


Nightingale

by A_Farnese



Series: Penumbra [9]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 19:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2882123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Farnese/pseuds/A_Farnese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fate has been cruel to Merlin in the past months, stealing away so much that was dear to him. While Arthur can't bring back what Merlin has lost, there is one gift the king can give him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightingale

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: 'Merlin' and its characters are not mine. No money is being made from this.

“Wakey, wakey.”

The chill morning air launched Merlin into wakefulness more than Arthur’s words did. One moment he’d been warm and asleep, the next, cold and sputtering awake as Arthur yanked the blankets away. He could almost feel the waves of glee rolling off the King.

“Arthur, what- ?”

“Come on, then. Rise and shine.” Arthur ruffled his hair and pushed Merlin upright before stepping away, the clack of his boots loud against the floor. “After all these years, now you know how irritating it is to be woken up like that. Now come on. Get up, get dressed.” The cupboard door creaked and something fluttered in the air, hitting Merlin square in the face before draping itself over his head and shoulder.

“What-?” Another fluttering, and some other soft thing landed on him. Merlin reached up and pulled it off his head- one of his shirts. The blue one, if he judged the stitching on its collar correctly. “Why are you throwing things at me?”

“Because it’s faster than letting you pick them out.” The cupboard door snicked shut. “And because it’s funny. Now get up, get dressed, and be quick about it.” Arthur’s footsteps headed for the door, springy and light. Something had put the King in a bright mood, and Merlin doubted it was entirely from the thrill of being obnoxious.

“Or what?” Merlin grumbled.

The steps paused, “Or you’ll answer to Guinevere. Now get moving.” Arthur closed the door behind him, muffling the sound of cheerful feminine scolding beyond.

“Prat.” He aimed a glare toward the door before pulling the clothes off his shoulders. The chill of the late winter air made him want to curl back up under his blankets. He could seal the door, after all . . .

But they would just spend the rest of the morning making as loud a ruckus as possible. ‘Best just to get up and face the day, then.’ Sighing, Merlin felt for the ewer on his bedside table and splashed a bit of water on his face to chase away the last bits of sleep.

He stretched before fussing with the clothes, easing the aches out of his joints and muscles. Though his wounds and broken bones had healed, the lingering pains were as reluctant to leave as the visions of Blackheath that still haunted his sleep. ‘ _Maybe I’ll stop feeling like an old man before I actually am one_.‘ He shrugged out of his nightclothes and hurriedly donned the clothes Arthur had thrown at him, buckling his boots and lacing the braces over his wrists, tying them off with a clever knot. The strength had returned to his hands, but the scars remained. And Gaius worried.

Quickly, before Arthur could start complaining, Merlin tucked the ends of his scarf in and pulled his coat on, snapping his fingers for Cabal to follow while he counted off the steps to the door. “All right,” he said as he made his way down the stairs, pausing to listen to the sounds in Gaius’s chambers, trying to sort out who was there and where they all were. He had been working on a spell to help him see, but his efforts hadn’t paid off quite yet. Not in a useful fashion, anyway. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Arthur said, his footsteps approaching. Another bundle of cloth was draped over his head.

“No, I won’t,” Merlin grumbled and grabbed at the fabric, his fingers finding the hood of a cloak before Arthur roughly arranged it over his shoulders, flipping the hood over his head so the edge of it flopped over his nose. “Stop that! Why do you keep doing that?”

“Turnabout is fair play, you’ve always said. I’m just repaying you for all those winter mornings when you were being your most obnoxious self. Now come along. Your King commands it.” Arthur clapped his hands on Merlin’s shoulders, propelling him forward a few halting steps.

“Are you just going to let him do this, Gaius?” Merlin directed what he hoped was a martyred look in something approaching the physician’s direction before realizing the hood still covered half his face. He flipped it off his head. “Gaius? Gwen?”

“Don’t expect me to put a stop to this, Merlin. Your King gave you a command. You should obey him for once,” Gaius said, ill-concealed humor in his voice. Everyone was laughing at him this morning.

Merlin sighed. “Gwen?”

She laughed and slipped her arm through his, as though he were escorting her, and not the other way around. “I’m afraid we’re all plotting against you today, Merlin. But I promise you, you’ll like what happens at the end, all right?”

“I’m being out-voted, aren’t I?”

“No one said you had a vote, Merlin. Now let’s go.” Arthur flipped the hood back over Merlin’s head, a firm hand on the warlock’s arm as he pulled him toward the door.

Merlin stretched his senses out, trying to discern whatever might be going on. He felt Arthur’s ill-disguised glee and Gwen’s quiet ebullience. He couldn’t tell what the cause of their high spirits was. “It’s not even dawn yet,” he said as they guided him down the stairs. “What could possibly be going on this time of day?”

“Just be patient.” Guinevere patted him on the arm. Merlin sighed and gave in, letting them drag him on to whatever ridiculous thing they had planned. But he steadfastly refused to let the hood flop over his face.

They led him down the long hallway out of the servants’ quarters. They encountered a few of them along the way. Merlin heard them stop to make their courtesies to Arthur as he walked by, and he waved them off to whatever early duties they had, pulling Merlin ever onward. Up this flight of stairs and down that one, past the royal apartments, only slowing down when Merlin- dizzy from the rapid pace and disoriented from the confusing sounds- stumbled and nearly fell to his knees. Arthur had grace enough to breathe an apology as he pulled the warlock upright, waiting until he had found his balance again before ushering them onward again, albeit at a slower pace. After enough twists and turns, staircases and doorways, and ups and downs, Merlin was completely lost. If he didn’t know any better he would say they were trying to get him turned about to leave him to find his own way back, playing the same elaborate prank on him as the village children in Ealdor had once upon a time. He wouldn’t put it past Arthur, but he knew Guinevere would keep him in line.

“Where are we going?” he tried again.

“Patience. We’re almost there.” Guinevere squeezed his arm, a smile in her voice. “Just one more door- right here. Mind your head.” He freed his arm from Arthur’s grasp and reached up, finding the top of a rough stone arch just at eye level. She ushered him through a doorway as he he ducked, wincing as a blast of cold, late winter air hit in in the face.

“Careful of the stairs,” Guinevere cautioned just in time. Merlin closed his eyes out of habit, hiding the flash of gold as he let his Mind’s Eye open, guiding him up the steps into the open space beyond.

“The Rose Garden? There’s nothing here this time of year, and if we’re here to see the first blooms, we’re going to be standing here a while. The first day of spring isn’t even until next week, and-”

“Merlin,” Arthur said. “Shut up.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, prompting a laugh from Guinevere. “Now I know you’re feeling better, Merlin. Anyway. We’re not here for the flowers,” she said. “We’re here for something else. Well, two somethings to be exact. The first thing should be coming along any time now.”

“What, sunrise?”

“No.”

“We could have waited until sunrise. Or after,” Arthur said, a hint of complaint in his voice.

Merlin felt heat of Guinevere’s glare as she shifted to look up at Arthur. What a pity it was, that in the spirit world they shone so brightly he could hardly bear to look at them. Some souls were dim, so empty of purpose they hardly shined at all, appearing as shells of men limned in candlelight, while others were lit like torches. Arthur and Guinevere burned bright as the sun.

“No,” she said, “We couldn’t have. It’s best done now. Just be quiet, both of you, or you’ll scare it away.” Merlin clamped his lips around the question that started to roll off his tongue, letting out an impatient sigh instead. Arthur nudged him in the ribs. “Oh!” Guinevere gasped, her voice lowering to a whisper, “There it is.” She raised a hand, pointing toward something fluttering about in a tree.

To Merlin’s second sight, it looked like a collection of dancing sparks trailing motes of light behind it as it went, until finally it settled on a branch, pouring out music like water from a mountain spring, the sweetest song nature’s repertory had to offer. “A nightingale,” Merlin whispered, an unbidden smile spreading across his face.

“The first one I’ve seen this year. A little early, but I’ve seeing him around. When he kept showing up here, I thought you might want to hear him singing.” Guinevere rested her head against his shoulder. “The stars are lost to you, I know, but I didn’t want you to forget the nightingales.”

“No,” he breathed, “How could I?” Merlin let his Mind’s Eye close and shut his eyes, focusing all his attention on the bird’s sweet song. He would never admit to her that for a time, he had wanted to forget, wanted to wipe away the memory of his mother waiting for spring’s first nightingale to alight in the tree by their house, how she would clear out the window and leave it open despite the cold to let in that bright song- her favorite and eventually his, too.

He had tried to forget all that after the news, after Arthur and Lancelot had brought him home from his meeting with Kilgharrah. The memories he had of her, of how good and kind his mother had been to everyone she met, of how fiercely she had loved her only son had collided with what he had seen of her death, how lonely and terrifying it had been. . . He had wanted to forget. All of it. But when the initial wave of grief washed away, he knew that forgetting would do her a disservice. Like Freya and Balinor, some small part of Hunith would live on, if only in his memory. It would have to be enough. _‘So let the nightingale sing.’_

“Thank you,” he whispered to Guinevere, resting his cheek against her hair.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered back.

Arthur cleared his throat, almost nervously. “There, um, there was one other thing we brought you up here for. It’s something I- we have been working on, almost since we came home from Blackheath. In council.” Parchment crackled in Arthur’s hands. “I signed it into law last night.”

“What, you finally finished the tariff negotiations with the envoy from Nemeth? I know it’s important, but did you really need to drag me up here to-”

“Shut up, Merlin. I’m trying to say something important. Here,” Arthur stole one of Merlin’s hands from Guinevere’s grip and pressed a rolled-up parchment into his palm, closing his fingers around the seal- the royal seal, Merlin could tell. The pattern of raised wax that made up the dragon sigil of Camelot had become familiar enough in the past few weeks.

“Arthur, I still can’t read . . . “ Merlin said, growing exasperated with this drawing out of events.

“Don’t tease him,” Guinevere said, reaching around to playfully whack Arthur on the arm.

“I’m not,” Arthur defended himself, “I want you to know that it’s a royal decree, and that it has the full weight of the crown behind it. Here, let me read it.” He took the parchment back, being careful not to crinkle it further as he cracked the wax seal and unrolled it.

“I, Arthur Pendragon, by the grace of God, King of Camelot, Lord Protector, blah, blah, titles and greetings,” he read, skipping over the obligatory formalities. “From this day hence, We do rescind the laws forbidding the practice of magic within the realm of Camelot. Let it be so known, that those persons with the ability may practice openly such magics that present no harm to their fellow citizens, to the Kingdom, or to its lands. Let it also be known that those sorcerers who abide in peace will, from this day forward, be free from persecution and harassment from the Crown and its representatives.” The parchment rustled again as Arthur re-rolled it. “There are a series of by-laws and other formalities, but the gist of it all is right there at the beginning. Merlin?” Arthur touched the warlock’s shoulder. Guinevere’s grip tightened on his other arm. “Are you all right?”

He was shaking. He hadn’t fathomed the words quite yet, hadn’t sorted them into the proper sort of reality. Some part of him refused to believe that it was anything but some cruel trick played by his own dream-self.

“Is this real?” he whispered.

“As real as we are,” Guinevere said.

“We’re free? Actually, truly free?” Saying the words aloud made it seem more real, but. . .

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur said softly, “You’re free. Actually, truly free.”

He let out a breath that was half-sob, half-laugh, the truth of Arthur’s words dawning over him with the sun. “I didn’t think it would ever happen. I never thought the council would . . . “ He stopped before his voice broke.

“You thought the council would never approve it?” Arthur asked. Merlin nodded. “We spent the last two and a half months fighting over it, but in the end, I got my way. My father’s decision . . . It wasn’t right. He persecuted sorcerers out of his own desire for vengeance. Perhaps it made Camelot safer for a time, but it’s a different world now. A different time. How can I call Camelot a free and just kingdom if all her people aren’t free? So. You, the Druids, all your kind. You are free to practice magic. To practice your faith, just like everyone else.” Arthur closed Merlin’s fingers over the parchment again. “I had the scribe write out several copies, just in case. But this one in particular is for you.”

Merlin ran his thumb over the wax seal, reassuring himself that it was real, that this was happening, that it wasn’t all a dream. He closed his eyes to keep the tears from rolling down his face. Tears of joy, though, not sorrow. He had hoped for some light at the end of this winter- the darkest one he’d ever known. Some light had to come out it, some happy thing, even if it was just first birdsong of spring. He had never expected this.

A giddy laugh welled up, spilling out before he could even bother to try to stop it. _‘Is this how freedom feels? As light as air?’_

Arthur caught him as his knees gave out, lowering him to the ground as Guinevere wrapped an arm about his shoulders. Merlin grabbed Arthur’s wrist before the King could pull away. “Thank you,” he breathed, laughter still bubbling up from within.

“You’re welcome, my friend. It truly is a new day.”

Merlin nodded when words failed him. He clutched the parchment close to his heart, reveling in his first minutes of freedom. The sound of his laughter rang through the garden, rivaling the nightingale’s song for pure joy. A vision of a new world opened up before him, and though he may not have had eyes to see it with, it was as bright and clear as any he could have hoped for.

_“Yes,”_ he thought. _“Let the nightingale sing.”_

 

 


End file.
